


iwa-chan from target

by bluu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Retail, Drunken Flirting, Fluff, Frat Boy Oikawa, Humor, M/M, Miscommunication, Pre-Law Student Iwaizumi Hajime, Wingmen Hanamaki and Matsukawa, this is so self-indulgent i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 08:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15360207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluu/pseuds/bluu
Summary: “Your coupons expired yesterday,” Iwaizumi informs him curtly, sticking his hand out at the customer and thrusting the brochure back at him. “And even if they didn’t, it says in the fine print that the offer is limited to up to four items anyway, so.”“What the fuck,” the customer says. “I'm suing Target.”(Iwaizumi works at part-time at Target; it's fine until a drunk fratboy shows up one day and hits on him relentlessly.)





	iwa-chan from target

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this two years ago in July 2016. Yesterday I found it and suddenly I have this monstrosity in my hands. 
> 
> Lots of this is based off of my personal experiences (mock trial, sticky frat floors, embarrassing moments at university library cafes). Because of that, please ignore the fact that the college experience here is based off the American one. I have no idea how Japanese university works, so just roll with it.
> 
> Please enjoy!

For all of its downsides, Iwaizumi actually likes his job. The hours are flexible, his co-workers are cool (on the rare occasion he goes out, he does so with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, whom he often shares shifts and lives in the same part of campus with), and although the pay isn’t _great_ his work as a part-time cashier is stable, easy, and relatively painless on most days.

Occasionally he’ll have to deal with a cranky grandma or overly entitled soccer mom, but luckily for him, those kind of people usually shop in the morning or early afternoons, which was when Iwaizumi took his pre-law and history classes at Sendai University. He works the latest shifts, from seven to eleven at night, where the only customers he had to deal with were tired grocery-shoppers, or drunk college students.

Like the one currently waving a flyer in front of his face.

“Look,” the guy demands, “it says _right here_ that six-packs are going for 4.99 each.” He gestures widely at the mountain of beer sitting on tje conveyor belt. The customer grins up at Iwaizumi, teeth flashing brightly as he gave Iwaizumi what he assumes to be a winning smile.

Iwaizumi eyes the stacks of Natty Light warily. This guy had poor taste.

“Come on,” the customer argues. “I’ve got a party going right now and we’re running low. Take pity on a broke man. There’s no way I can buy ten six-packs without these coupons, so just do this for me?”

Iwaizumi examines the flyer closely.

“Your coupons expired yesterday,” Iwaizumi informs him curtly, sticking his hand out at the customer and thrusting the brochure back at him. “And even if they didn’t, it says in the fine print that the offer is limited to up to four items anyway, so.”

“What the fuck,” the customer says. “I’m suing Target. This is false advertising.”

“You’re welcome to do that, sir,” Iwaizumi sighs, “but I advise you to learn how to read before you try to use a coupon.”

The customer slaps a hand over his chest. “So rude!” He leans even closer _,_ the pungence of alcohol very much present on his breath, Iwaizumi notes gloomily. “Tell you what —” the customer’s eyes flicker down to Iwaizumi’s name badge — “Iwaizumi. Tell you what. I’ll let you come to this party after your shift if you let me use these coupons.”

He winks at him suggestively. A part of Iwaizumi’s soul withers and dies.

“Sorry, sir,” Iwaizumi grimaces. “I can’t do that for you. These coupons are invalid, so even if I were to ring them up on the register, they wouldn’t apply the discount on the items. Would you still like to purchase them?”

The man narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Iwaizumi as if searching for a weakness in Iwaizumi’s expression. When he fails to find it, the customer lurches back and sniffs. “I’m suing Target,” he repeats. “I’m fucking suing Target.”

“I understand that, sir, but we’re closing in ten minutes, so please decide on whether or not you would still like to buy these items.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the customer grumbles, handing over his credit card to him.

“There’s a chip reader right in front of you,” Iwaizumi says.

“Oh.”

After a few failed attempts to pay (the Fratboy, as Iwaizumi names him, jams his card into the chip reader and misses four times, and then messes up his signature twice before finally succeeding), Iwaizumi starts to haul the packs of beer into a shopping cart, rolling up his sleeves as he does so. When he’s done, he looks up to see Fratboy sauntering over to his shopping cart, grinning.

“You know…” the customer drawls in a tone of voice that raises hairs on Iwaizumi’s neck, “I’ll let you come to the party anyway. Even though you didn’t let me use those coupons. I know your shift ends in like, ten minutes.” His voice drops to an even lower register. “It's at Sigma Nu. You look like a Sendai student too, so you _have_ to know where that is. Come on, Iwaizumi-kun. Have a little fun after a hard night off work.”

Iwaizumi twitches, pointedly ignoring everything Fratboy just said. “Have a nice night, sir.”

Fratboy pouts, and then opens his mouth as if to protest — but thinks better if it, apparently, because he ends up saying nothing in response. Rather he opts for swivelling the shopping cart around, pushing it away from Iwaizumi in a dramatic fashion and strutting towards the exit. Then he looks back and shoots a smirk at him.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Iwaizumi-kun.”

Iwaizumi shivers. He’s not going to think about what that could mean.

 

-

 

Iwaizumi doesn't go to work again until the following Monday. After changing into his work clothes in the bathroom and checking the shift schedule, he arrives to counter number three only to find Matsukawa and Hanamaki on cashier and bagging duties respectively at the next counter over, wagging their eyebrows at him.

Oh fuck.

“What,” Iwaizumi says.

“I didn’t know you were one of us pillow-biters, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki, Target's resident piece of shit, said.

 _Pillow-biters?_ “What the fuck?”

“A twink came asking for you Saturday morning,” Matsukawa drawls.

“A _very_ attractive twink,” Hanamaki chimes.

At Iwaizumi’s incredulous look, Matsukawa hums and continues, “Brown hair, brown eyes, killer legs, about yea high―” he gestures about five centimeters above Iwaizumi’s hair― “and honestly, was probably still drunk. Guy looked like he got run over by a semi and then some. Still managed to look good though.”

“No?” Iwaizumi trails off. “...Oh.”

“' _O_ _h’_? Mattsun!”

“I heard him, Makki. I heard him. We have a gay among our ranks.”

“Shut the fuck up, both of you,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “I don’t know who he is.”

Hanamaki leaned forward against the check-out counter, leering over at Iwaizumi. “You sure? He seemed awfully heartbroken that Iwaizumi from Target didn't show at Sigma Nu on Saturday night. Why didn’t you show?”

Iwaizumi snorts. “The guy was buying a dozen cases of Natty Light. If I'm going to drink it's not going to be piss water. You know I don't go to frat parties anymore.” He pauses. “Anyways, Irihata-san’s going to get pissed if you don't get the fuck back to work.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Hanamaki grumbles, but goes back to cataloging the new items in the system before helping the next customer in line.

Iwaizumi turns to his own check-out counter, frowning for a bit. Fratboy from Saturday was undeniably attractive and outrageously flirtatious to the point of ridiculousness. And despite all of Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s shit, it's true that Iwaizumi isn't normally into guys (though he definitely did his fair share of experimenting first semester.) He certainly finds some guys hot, but at heart, he loves a slender waist and slim legs and a cute bubble butt.

Iwaizumi's an ass man, what can he say.

But as a mother and her son stroll up to his counter, he inwardly sighs and shrugs off any thoughts of drunk fratboys or shitty parties. He's got crippling college debt to pay off.

 

-

 

Sitting at a desk in the perpetually crowded library, Iwaizumi hunches over his Constitutional Law textbook, eyes narrowed as he copied cases from the textbook onto his flashcards. Being a pre-law student meant that he spent a lot of time here in the rustling quiet of the university library, memorizing case after case and writing countless papers.

He likes the material, he really does. He just wishes there wasn't so fucking much of it. But Iwaizumi could care less about the politics of it all; he just wants to be able to be a lawyer so he can help the public and put shitty people behind bars. Iwaizumi really wanted to be a policeman at one point but out of consideration for his poor mother's anxious disposition, he opted for the less dangerous route.

But by nature, Iwaizumi’s a physical person, so he's just about to stand up to take a stretch break when he hears a whisper from the seat across from him: “Leaving so soon, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi jolts and looks up, and would you fucking look at that. Sigma Nu Posterboy, in the flesh.

“What the fuck did you call me?” Iwaizumi hisses, keeping his voice low as to not piss other students off but loud enough to get the message across.

Sigma Nu gives him a toothy smile. “Iwaizumi-kun is just too long, isn't it? This way it's cuter. Unless you want me to call you something a bit more familiar,” he says, peering over his thick-rimmed glasses meaningfully.

“Don't fucking call me anything.”

“Why so touchy, Counsel?”

Iwaizumi frowns. Apparently Fratboy observed him enough to notice that he's pre-law. And considering the only legible legalese was on the cover of his textbook, which he brought out and opened over an hour and a half ago —

_What a stalker._

“Are you going to stop bothering me and everyone around you? This is a library,” Iwaizumi states petulantly, honestly a bit perturbed at the other man’s persistency. Weren't frat guys supposed to be homophobic?

But the Fratboy smiles wider as if he was waiting for Iwaizumi to point out their disruptiveness all along. “Good thinking, Iwa-chan. Let's get coffee downstairs, hmm?”

And then he gets up, slings his bag over his shoulder, and walks out of the reading room.

Iwaizumi stares after him, debating whether he wanted to follow after this asshole or stay and study for his quiz at the end of week. He looks over at the girl studying next to him, who was giving him a look as to say _stop bothering me and get the fuck out of here, dipshit,_ and under the judgement of that stare, Iwaizumi does. Whatever, he wants answers anyway.

Stuffing his book and notes into his backpack, Iwaizumi begrudgingly walks out of the large study space and down the stairs to the small café on the first floor of the library that served decent coffee to sleep-deprived college students at all hours of the day. Walking in, he finds Fratboy already sitting at a table with two coffees.

“You seemed like a black coffee kind of guy,” Fratboy guesses, pushing the cup over in Iwaizumi's direction. Annoyingly, he's right. “An intense drink for an intense gentleman, wouldn't you say, Mr. Attorney?”

“You are such a disgusting little man,” Iwaizumi says bluntly, sitting down in the seat across from the other and taking a sip of his free coffee.

“Don’t say things that aren't true, Iwa-chan. I'm taller than you.”

“I notice you didn't deny the disgusting part.”

Fratboy shrugs. “Yet you're here.”

Iwaizumi scowls. “I just wanted answers. Who the fuck are you anyway? Why are you stalking me?”

“Oikawa Tooru, and isn't it obvious? You're cute.” Fratboy — Oikawa — pauses. “Even though you didn't give me the discount.”

Iwaizumi would grimace harder if it was possible, but he's maxing out right now. “So you don't deny stalking me?”

“What can I say, Iwa-chan? Fate is bring us together. I can't help but be drawn to you, physically and emotionally.”

“Sorry, I'm not gay.”

“Your coworker friends certainly thought otherwise.”

Damn those fuckers. Iwaizumi made a mental note to hit Hanamaki later.

“And you totally were checking out my butt that night,” Oikawa continues.

Shit, was he? Iwaizumi can't remember. Then again, he wouldn't be surprised — he is an ass man after all. Anyways, Oikawa was annoyingly observant.

“Any further questions, Counsel?”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, about to deny checking Oikawa out, but then closes it, knowing when he's lost. “What, are you pre-law too?”

Oikawa huffs. “God, no. I'm an econ-astrophysics double major. I’m going to business school. I'm on the mock trial team, though.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips. He tried out for Sendai’s top-ranking mock trial team. He, along with eighty other students, were cut in the first round. Only a few people make it each year — “How the fuck did an astrophysics major get on the team?”

“Jealousy is unbecoming, Iwa-chan. Also I play a witness, not an attorney, so you can rest easy.”

“Don't tell me you're the defendant.”

Oikawa takes a sip of his coffee, eyes glinting.

Iwaizumi groans. What an asshole. “I don't even know anything about you and you're already one-upping me. What are you going to tell me next? Are you friends with the President?”

“I'm pretty sure he was in Sig Nu, so potentially.”

“Fuck you,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “Leave my minimum wage ass alone.”

Oikawa laughs openly this time, the sound bright and clear. “No,” he chimes, swirling his coffee around languidly like the pretentious dickwad Iwaizumi is quickly getting to know that he is. “But those white Target pants sure make that minimum wage ass priceless.”

Iwaizumi splutters. “Stop hitting on me.”

“Give me your number, and I'll stop.”

“As if I'll believe that! You're just going to harass me over the phone!”

Oikawa gasped. “Iwa-chan, I'm not that tactless. I much prefer prepositioning you in person. Also, do you bottom?”

Iwaizumi gapes. Seriously?

“— because although I _can_ I'd really rather not, and I figure we should get this out of the way before we start fucking.”

 _Nope._  Iwaizumi bristles. Looks like all frat guys were entitled to sex, not just the straight ones. Honestly, Iwaizumi didn't know what else he was expecting. Oikawa was in Sig Nu, after all.

“There will be no fucking!” he snaps at the frat boy. Standing from his seat, Iwaizumi snatches his backpack from the ground and storms out of the café.

(Distantly, he hears someone say “Damn, that was harsh,” in the coffee shop as he walks away, but Iwaizumi ignores it, too busy fuming in embarrassment to care.)

 

-

 

It's been a few days since Iwaizumi ran into Oikawa at the library. To be honest, he's a bit embarrassed with himself for causing such a scene. He certainly isn't returning to that café anytime soon.

But he's also angry at Oikawa still. How easy does he think he is? Sure, the frat boy was certainly attractive, but the thing was, he totally knew it. Attractive people who know they're attractive are always the worst kind of people.

Fuck that guy. Also fuck that he's on the mock trial team when Iwaizumi was the actual pre-law student here. That just pisses him off.

Iwaizumi's at work sorting inventory and thinking about Oikawa when he feels a buzz in his pant pocket. Fishing his phone out, he stares at the text on the screen.

 

> **(910) 748-2192** : hey
> 
> **(** **910) 748-2192** : sorry about the other day

 

Iwaizumi stills.

 

> **Me** : Who is this?

 

And immediately: 

 

> **(910) 748-2192** : i was way too forward and disrespectful to you. i really am sorry and i don't expect you to forgive me. i crossed a line. sorry for being creepy. i guess im not really helping my case by texting you, huh.

 

Well. 

 

> **Me** : Is this Oikawa?
> 
> **(910) 748-2192** : has someone else mercilessly hit on you recently? my, iwa-chan, you're quite the catch.
> 
> **(910) 748-2192** : sorry i don't mean that in a creepy way it's just habit you know
> 
> **(910) 748-2192** : maybe im just a fuckboy
> 
> **(910) 748-2192** : just signu things
> 
> **Me** : You're definitely a fuckboy.
> 
> **Oikawa** : rude!!
> 
> **Oikawa** : i feel like a key part of being a fuckboy is the misogyny but you're like, not a girl
> 
> **Oikawa** : ….are you??

 

Iwaizumi blinks.

 

> **Me** : I'm a guy.
> 
> **Oikawa** : ok good
> 
> **Oikawa** : look i don't want you to think im a dick
> 
> **Oikawa** : because im not, i swear
> 
> **Oikawa** : i want to prove that to you
> 
> **Oikawa** : we haven't talked much but i really think you're cute and want to get to know you better
> 
> **Oikawa** : maybe i can give you mock trial tryout tips for sophomore year if you want.

 

Iwaizumi pauses.

Sure, Oikawa had been an asshole, but he seems genuinely apologetic right now, even if it's only over text. And Iwaizumi felt a bit bad for rejecting him so loudly in a public space. Also Oikawa had a nice ass.

...Dammit. He _did_ look.

 

> **Me:** How did you even get this number?
> 
> **Oikawa:** ;)
> 
> **Me:** I'm not giving you another chance if you don't tell me.
> 
> **Oikawa:** you're a cruel man, iwa-chan.
> 
> **Oikawa:** if you must know, i got it from a mutual friend.
> 
> **Me:** Who?
> 
> **Oikawa:** kuroo

 

Oh. Iwaizumi forgot that Kuroo was in Sigma Nu. Honestly, with how sharp as he is during class, Iwaizumi forgets that Kuroo had a bit of a reputation for being a party animal. Guess he needs to blow off that chemical engineering and pre-law stress somewhere.

 

> **Me:** You're paying.
> 
> **Oikawa:** wouldn't be a date otherwise, iwa-chan~
> 
> **Oikawa:** tomorrow at 6? ill pick you up
> 
> **Me:** Do you even know where I live?
> 
> **Oikawa:** mather?
> 
> **Me:** Jesus.
> 
> **Oikawa:** cya then iwa-chan!!!
> 
> **Me:** … Stalker.

 

Iwaizumi sighs, putting his phone back into his pocket, staring back at the dozens of toys he hasn't sorted yet.

“What did I get myself into,” he asks a cheery looking stuffed Pikachu. The Pokemon just looks back him blankly, and Iwaizumi sighs, placing it in a box. Not even Pikachu could help him now.

 

-

 

He has absolutely no clue how Matsukawa and Hanamaki found out about his meeting with Oikawa, but somehow the two fuckers are in his dorm room right now, with Matsukawa slouched on his bean bag chair and Hanamaki sitting on his bed, judging Iwaizumi silently.

“Definitely not that jacket,” Matsukawa remarks. 

Hanamaki nods furiously.

Iwaizumi groans.

“What the fuck. I don't think this is a _real_ date. He's apologizing after making a fool out of me in Seijou’s Coffee. He didn't even tell me what we were going to do. Hell, we might just end up at a ramen stall, or like, Seijou’s again. I don't need to look nice for this shit.”

Matsukawa gives him a blank stare and Hanamaki tuts. “Try the bomber,” the pink haired man commands.

Iwaizumi does, because what else can he do.

“Ooh,” Matsukawa says.

Hanamaki grins. “Here we go. My man Iwaizumi looking like a real feast tonight. Go get him, tiger.”

Iwaizumi looks down at his watch, which he wore only because Hanamaki wouldn't stop bitching about how he needed to accessorize, and inhales. “Yeah, it's 5:58. I should go.”

“You got condoms?”

“Lube?”

“Fucking hell, guys,” Iwaizumi sighs, grabbing his room key and wallet from his desk. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa listen to him for once and saunter out of his room, but not before giving matching grins. Iwaizumi closes the door behind him as he walks out shortly after, an indescribable feeling swirling in his gut as he jogs down the five flights of stairs to the ground floor of his residential building. He ignores as he opens the large doors and walks out to find Oikawa.

And a sports car.

“What the fuck,” Iwaizumi blurts. _Of course he had to be rich, too._

Oikawa, disgusting little man he is, grins. “I know I’m pretty, but no need for such dirty words, Iwa-chan.”

“Where the fuck do you keep a Mercedes on campus?”

A shrug. “I have a house nearby.”

Iwaizumi pointedly ignored how Oikawa says that _he has_ _a house nearby_ and not that _he lives nearby_ and wonders absentmindedly if he’s on a date with a sugar daddy. “Well, shithead, where are you taking me?”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I kiss _your_ mother with this mouth,” Iwaizumi retorts. 

Oikawa whistles. “And he makes a joke.” The shithead winks. “This will be fun for you yet, Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Iwaizumi shivers slightly and blames it on the night air. He opens the passenger seat door of the convertible and plops his ass in. “I don’t have all day, smartass.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Oikawa laughs, but hops in the driver’s seat and powers up his car with a push of a button.

The car ride is… enjoyable, unfortunately. Though Iwaizumi is wary of Oikawa at first, he finds himself relaxing into a comfortable banter with the other. Iwaizumi finds that Oikawa can take all of Iwaizumi’s jabs and insults in stride, even returning them — _“You have no right to insult me when your hair looks like it belongs on a porcupine!”_ — but the sexual forwardness is almost gone entirely, which Iwaizumi appreciates.

And it’s not like he’s a prude, really. He’s had a few flings and more than a few drunken frat hookups (most of them at Sig Nu, actually). Iwaizumi is no virgin. But he doesn’t like cocky assholes and Oikawa hasn’t proven himself to be anything else but a cocky asshole… a cocky asshole in the biggest and most influential fraternity on campus who also is in the top competing collegiate mock trial teams in the country _when he isn’t even a pre-law student._ And to make matters worse, he was taller than him, and unfortunately, incredibly good looking.

Honestly, Iwaizumi hates this guy.

They pull up in front of a small sushi place, which Iwaizumi appreciates. Nice, but not too nice, and Iwaizumi is suddenly very glad that Hanamaki and Matsukawa forced him to wear something other than his usual drawstring sweatpants and cotton T-shirt. They get a table and Oikawa pulls his chair out and everything.

“What a gentleman,” Iwaizumi snarks, but sits down anyway.

“But of course, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi orders agedashi tofu and the chef’s selection of nigiri, whereas Oikawa deliberately picks a combination of fatty tuna, salmon, yellowtail, and sea bream sashimi. (“You’re so high maintenance.” “Only the best for the best, Iwa-chan! I don’t expect you to understand.) While they wait for their food, Iwaizumi finds himself talking to Oikawa about everything from on-campus groups to majors of study to sports.

“You play volleyball?”

Iwaizumi grunts. “I did in high school.”

Oikawa gives him a brilliant smile. “I’m the starting setter for Sendai’s Division I team.”

“Jesus, is there anything you don’t do?”

“Hm…” Oikawa thinks for a second. “... Yeah, I don’t think there’s anything I’m not good at. If there is. I haven’t found it yet.”

“You’re such a jackass, you know that?”

“Are you this mean to all of your dates, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi pauses.

Actually, no. He wasn’t. If anything, he was usually the perfect gentleman on dates. He certainly doesn’t insult them. The insults were usually reserved for his friends, like his old friends from high school or Hanamaki and Matsukawa or his roommate Yahaba.

He takes a sip of his tea, uncomfortable with the revelation. “You’re just the worst.”

“Again with the insults!”

Their food arrives and Iwaizumi goes straight for the tofu, scooping up a piece in his spoon along with some dashi. Gingerly, he takes a small bite out of it and mentally sings his praise to the heavens.

Turning back to the conversation, Iwaizumi asks, “Do you even get enough sleep?”

Oikawa shrugs, dipping a piece of salmon into some soy sauce. “I do a lot of adderall.”

He stares incredulously.

“I have to! There’s only twenty-four hours in a day and so many things to do! I don’t have time to waste on sleep. I get my four hours and that’s enough.”

“You’re going to die, shithead."

“So sweet,” Oikawa croons, leaning over his food to smile languidly at Iwaizumi. “I didn’t know you had such motherly instincts, Iwa-chan.”

“Die.”

His date sighs dramatically and leans back. “I miss the old Iwa-chan. The one that so politely called me _sir_ when I was in my time of need.”

“You mean when you were shitfaced at Target.”

“Yes, that.”

Iwaizumi scoffs and finishes the rest of his tofu. He mourns quietly for the dish, wishing the portion was a bit bigger. “I have to be nice at work.”

Oikawa’s eyes gleam. “So if I show up during Iwa-chan’s shifts, Iwa-chan will be nice to me?”

“Don’t get any fucking ideas, asshole. Stop harassing me and my coworkers when we’re on the job. I don’t want to be fired because you’re such an attention whore.”

“No fun,” Oikawa sighs, plucking some yellowtail off his place and smearing it with a dab of wasabi. “Why do you work there, anyway?”

“What do you mean, why? Not everyone can drive a Mercedes-Benz and live in the lap of luxury every weekend. I have tuition to pay, student contribution is a bitch.”

“No, I understand that. But couldn’t you have gotten, I don’t know, an internship downtown? Or an on-campus research position?”

“Oikawa, I’m a _history_ major. I can’t get a lab position. Also, Target pays by the hour, and I get my paycheck every week, whereas internships are usually stipend based and it’s hard enough to get unpaid research. Minimum wage isn’t too bad here, so it works for me.”

Oikawa hums. “You probably live off of ramen, huh.”

“I’m only eating dinner with you because I’m poor and you’re paying.”

His eyes take on that dangerous gleam again that makes the hair on Iwaizumi’s skin prickle. “Guess I’ll have to buy you food more often, then,” Oikawa purrs.

Iwaizumi flicks a grain of rice at him and picks up a piece of nigiri. Well, he’ll never say no to free food. And Oikawa wasn’t the worst company when he wasn’t trying to get into his pants. Speaking of which —

“Didn’t you just want to sleep with me?”

Oikawa sighs, putting his chopsticks down as he finishes the last of his sashimi. “No. Look, you’re attractive.” He gives Iwaizumi a meaningful look, scanning his entire body. “And I can’t deny that I’ve wanted to since I saw you at that check-out. I just couldn’t resist teasing,” Oikawa coos, smiling. But he pauses.

“I’m sorry for giving you that impression. I like talking to you, and I’d like to buy you dinner more often,” he says, looking at Iwaizumi seriously before smirking. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to sleep with me, though.”

“I don’t fuck on the first date."

“No problem. I can take you out to dinner anytime.”

Iwaizumi snorts, drinking his tea, and Oikawa places his credit card on the bill.

 

-

 

True to his word, Oikawa takes him out to dinner again the week after, and then the week after that, and so on.. It’s… nice, Iwaizumi supposes, and like, how can anyone ever say no to free food. And though Oikawa was still flirty, he hasn’t outright prepositioned him since that time at the library. So it was enjoyable to get away from eating convenience store bentos at best and Top Ramen at worst.

Iwaizumi learns a lot about Oikawa in those dinner dates. He learns that Oikawa is majoring in astrophysics because he loves aliens, and economics because he wants to invest in technology start-ups and be a part of something new. He learns that Oikawa isn’t really _that_ rich, he’s upper-middle class, but he’s on a full-ride because of volleyball and his car used to be his dad’s. He learns that Oikawa really fucking loves volleyball, he likes mock trial for the adrenaline rush, and he loves his frat brothers, even though they’re kind of crazy. He learns that Oikawa maintains a 3.90 GPA and doesn’t actually do a ton of adderall, though he’s snorted it a few times. He just drinks a lot of coffee and conceals his dark circles.

Most of all, Iwaizumi learns that Oikawa isn’t as bad as he thought, and that he’s starting to like this arrogant frat boy asshole who always pays for dinner and drives him around Sendai. And so after their fifth dinner Iwaizumi grabs him by the lapels and jerks him close, kissing him harshly on the mouth before getting out of the Mercedes, flushed.

He’s fucked, probably, but at least he’s getting free meals, and a good look at Oikawa’s bubble butt every single time he walks in front of Iwaizumi. Life could be worse.

 

-

 

Scatch that. Oikawa is the bane of his existence.

“What the fuck did I say about showing up to my work,” Iwaizumi hisses when Oikawa strolls up to check-out aisle three with a bouquet of roses and a card. In the next aisle over, he could practically hear Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s eyebrows waggling.

“You kissed me the other day, so I thought we should make it official,” Oikawa says simply, handing the flowers and card to Iwaizumi, who takes them because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to do.

“Get the fuck out of here, Shittykawa.”

“Going, going!”

(Towards the middle of his shift when no one was around, Iwaizumi takes a peek at the card. Written in beautiful, asshole-ish script are the words, “ _I don’t just want to be Iwa-chan’s sugar daddy, be my boyfriend already!”_ Iwaizumi just exhales in exasperation and makes a note to pay half of the bill next time they went out to eat.)

 

-

 

"Pillowbiter,” Hanamaki accuses. “Twink. Cocksucker.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hanamaki, you’re literally fucking Matsukawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles, stealing a Hot Cheeto from the pink haired man’s bag of chips as they watch _The Great British Baking Show_ in Matsukawa’s dorm room.

“I just can’t believe you’re fucking a Sig Nu guy. You swore off everything related to frats after first semester.”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “He buys me food and helps me on my pre-law courses sometimes.”

“At the cost of your innocence?!”

Iwaizumi pauses. They haven’t had sex yet, and he tells Hanamaki exactly that.

Both Matsukawa and Hanamki turn to gape at him.

Iwaizumi immediately feels defensive. Hackles rising, he snaps, “What? I’m not that easy!”

“No, just,” Matsukawa gestures, “I can’t believe a Sig Nu guy would actually be in a real relationship, where sex isn’t guaranteed. They’re not exactly known to be the most pious of men, you know.”

That stirs up anxiety in Iwaizumi’s gut. Yeah, Iwaizumi knows, he’s been to Sig Nu parties. They definitely get a bit wild. He’s pretty sure he’s hooked up with a Sig Nu guy once. And though Iwaizumi _knows_ that Oikawa is a frat guy and that he’s mentioned being close with brothers, it’s not like Iwaizumi exactly knows what he does when he’s with them.

“Oh dear,” Matsukawa says.

“Did we break him?” Hanamaki stage-whispers.

“I’m afraid we might have, Makki.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Iwaizumi sighs. “You don’t think… he’s cheating on me, do you?”

This seems to catch his best friends off-guard. The two of them give each other unreadable looks. Hanamaki turns to Iwaizumi and says, “Well, I mean, he seems to like you a lot.”

“Yeah, I don’t know who else would show up to Target with a dozen of roses.”

“And he pays for your dinners.”

“And he takes you around in his shiny car.”

“But,” Hanamaki says, “I guess you could always go to a Sig Nu party and see what he’s doing. Just to make sure he’s not pulling you a fast one or anything.”

Iwaizumi considers that for a second. Would that be too paranoid of him? After all, Oikawa did approach him initially with sex in mind, and though their relationship has changed over the past two months, he’s not quite sure if Oikawa feels… deprived, or something, and is seeking out sex from someone else.

And it’s not like Iwaizumi is deliberately withholding sex from him, or anything. But they’re both super busy — Oikawa’s monster schedule and Iwaizumi’s work shifts restrict their time together to only an hour or two, once or twice a week. They’ve kissed and done their fair share of heavy petting, but they haven’t found the time to actually fuck yet.

“Will you guys come with me?”

Hanamaki blanches. “Fuck no, Iwaizumi. We also swore off of frats, remember? After the Halloween fiasco.”

“Ah yes,” Matsukawa muses, “Halloween. That was disgusting.”

“Quite,” Hanamaki says, pouring the rest of the Hot Cheeto crumbs into his mouth directly from the bag. “So you’re on your own there, buddy. Good luck. Are you going to go tomorrow? I think there’s one tomorrow. They usually host something on Saturday nights.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi mutters, chest getting tight with the familiar anguish of anxiety. “I guess I will.”

 

-

 

Iwaizumi hasn’t been to a frat party since last semester, and though he doesn’t remember a lot of what happens at the frat house, he will never forget how fucking sticky the floors get.

Disgusted, he steps gingerly across the floor, weaving between couples making out and slutty dancing to the punch station in the kitchen near the back. He immediately recognizes Kuroo, who seems to be on drink duty tonight, pouring out red Solo cups of jungle juice and handing them out like it was running out of style.

“Iwaizumi, my man!” Kuroo says, handing him a cup of death serum. “What brings you to our humble abode on this lovely evening?”

“Destressing,” Iwaizumi lies. If anything, he’s more stressed about potentially catching Oikawa cheating on him then he’s ever been stressed for a quiz or in-class essay. “Professor Ukai’s been ripping me to shreds.”

Kuroo nods solemnly in solidarity. “I understand, man. I got railed on that last quiz. There were definitely cases on there that we didn’t discuss in class.” He pats Iwaizumi on the shoulder. “Drink up. To suffering even more in law school!”

“Huzzah, huzzah,” Iwaizumi snort sarcastically, but chuckles anyways as he downs the rest of his drink, handing the empty cup to Kuroo. The lanky man whistles.

“I hope you have someone you can call to pick you up tonight, because there was definitely like three or four shots in that.” Kuroo pauses. “Are you, like… on the prowl for some pussy tonight?”

What? “What? No.” Didn’t Kuroo know about him and Oikawa? Iwaizumi thought he was the one who gave Oikawa his phone number.

“Oh,” Kuroo says, relaxing a bit, flashing him a smile. He hands him another cup of jungle juice. “Damn, Iwaizumi. A beefcake like you, huh?”

Iwaizumi snorts into his cup, gulping it down. “Yeah, well.”

In the back of his mind, he absentmindedly reminds himself that he isn’t here to get wasted, but to find Oikawa. But he was so nervous about confronting Oikawa about this whole potentially cheating on him thing and the alcohol was doing wonders in loosening his muscles up and easing the pit of apprehension in his stomach.

 _Whatever,_ Iwaizumi thinks. _I’ll be fine._

 

-

 

A few cups later, and Iwaizumi is not fine. His vision is getting hazy and the lights are getting bright, the thump of the music thrumming on his skin as his body flushes with alcoholic warmth.

He probably shouldn’t have overestimated his tolerance. He hasn’t gotten drunk in months, and if Kuroo was right and there were three shots in each cup, of course four cups of jungle juice would get him wasted. Staggering, he fumbles for his phone, nearly dropping it as he tries to turn on the screen.

_12:52. No new text messages._

Disappointed, Iwaizumi puts his phone back in his pocket and leans against the doorway to the kitchen, his head lolling slightly as he sways from drunkenness.

“Woah, there, buddy,” he hears as a hand gently shakes him. “Iwaizumi?”

He looks up to see Kuroo’s face, sort of fuzzy and out of focus, staring down at him.

“Jesus, let’s get you out of here,” Iwaizumi hears softly, and with that, he feels himself getting pulled away from the kitchen and to the stairs. 

He stumbles up the stairs, arm slung over Kuroo’s shoulder, as they make their way to a bedroom. They both collapse on something fluffy — a bed, Iwaizumi recognizes in his drunken haze — and Iwaizumi shuts his eyes, before he feels another gentle shake.

“Dude, Iwaizumi, are you okay?”

“Ah, I… yeah. Thanks.” Iwaizumi blinks up at Kuroo’s face. _You’re not Oikawa._

“Oikawa? No. I’m not him,” Kuroo says, and Iwaizumi realizes he said that out loud. “You know him? Why are you asking for Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi frowns. Things didn’t make sense. Didn’t Oikawa get his phone number from Kuroo? Shouldn’t he know that Oikawa and him were dating? _If we still are,_ Iwaizumi thinks bitterly —

— before the door opens and Oikawa is standing before him in the flesh.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa whispers confusedly, eyes darting over to Kuroo, who is inches away from Iwaizumi’s face, hand placed gingerly on Iwaizumi's shoulder.

 _Oh shit,_ Iwaizumi thinks, before his vision goes black.

 

-

 

Iwaizumi comes to, waking up staring at a familiar ceiling, before his head starts screaming bloody murder at him.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi hisses.

“There’s a cup of water and some aspirin for you on the nightstand,” a smooth voice drawls from across the room. “You’re going to need it.”

Fumbling for the items, Iwaizumi groans. “You’re my savior, Yahaba.”

And then after he downs the water and pills, he asks, “What the fuck happened?”

A cocked eyebrow from his roommate. “You mean you don’t remember?”

“I just remember sticky ass floors and blue jungle juice.”

Yahaba gives him a pitiful look. “Your boyfriend dragged your ass in, dumped you on your bed, yelled at you for being an idiot, cried because you were cheating on him, slapped you a few times, and then paraded off without saying a single word to me at two in the morning.”

What. “What.”

Yahaba sighs. “Might want to check your phone, my friend.”

Dread filling him, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and groans when he sees thirty-five unread messages and eleven missed calls.

He opens the ones that scares him the least first.

 

> **Matsukawa:** bro are you alive??

 

And then:

 

> **Hanamaki:** dude when we told you to go out tonight we didn’t fucking think you would repeat halloween
> 
> **Hanamaki:** are you okay???

 

Iwaizumi gulps, and opens the next one.

 

> **Kuroo:** hey man i’m sorry
> 
> **Kuroo:** just to clear things up nothing happened between us
> 
> **Kuroo:** i didn’t know you were with Oikawa, he’s my roommate, and i would never do something like that to him
> 
> **Kuroo:** i explained things to him but you should probably talk to him
> 
> **Kuroo:** make sure to stay hydrated and i hope you’re okay!

 

Oh no.

 

> **Shittykawa:** WHAT THE FUCK, IWAIZUMI HAJIME
> 
> **Shittykawa:** HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME
> 
> **Shittykawa:** I thought we had something special
> 
> **Shittykawa:** and you go get wasted in my room and cheat on me with my fucking roommate?
> 
> **Shittykawa:** This is so fucking rich
> 
> **Shittykawa:** You were so worried that I was the slutty one but here you are
> 
> **Shittykawa:** Seriously I can’t fucking believe you.

 

Iwaizumi winces, reading a few other messages that were more or less exactly the same, until he finds the most recent text.

 

> **Shittykawa:** Kuroo tried to explain things to me.
> 
> **Shittykawa:** But we still need to talk.

 

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi groans.

 

-

 

He knows he has to talk to Oikawa, but first he wants to consult Matsukawa and Hanamaki first, considering that they’re the fucking ones who got him into this mess. Kind of.

Iwaizumi walks down a flight of stairs to Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s room —

“—Makki, maybe we should tell him.”

“I know, okay, but I didn’t fucking think he would get wasted like that!”

Iwaizumi goes rigid. They were talking about _him._

“Mattsun, I thought it would speed up the process! They’ve been going at this so slowly, and you know Oikawa is frustrated. He’s not usually this patient and you know he needs more than what Iwaizumi is giv— oh, fuck. Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi stands in their doorway, arms crossed and jaw clenched, fuming angrily.

“Explain, or else.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki gulp simultaneously.

 

-

 

Turns out:

  1. Matsukawa and Hanamaki knew Oikawa from high school volleyball.


  1. When Oikawa texted Matsukawa asking for the name and number of the guy working check-out counter three, Hanamaki thought it would be hilarious to set them up and pretend like they had nothing to do with it. Oikawa agreed.


  1. Hanamaki and Matsukawa have been feeding Oikawa details all along about his favorite foods, movies, and activities for date ideas.


  1. Kuroo had nothing to do with anything, and was only there as a scapegoat so Iwaizumi wouldn’t know that they were involved.



“Are you fucking serious?” So that's how Oikawa knew where he lived! And his favorite food! And his childhood love for Godzilla. And literally… everything else. What the fuck.

Hanamaki wails. “I’m sorry! We didn’t mean for it to get this complicated! We just wanted you to get laid!”

“You made me think that Oikawa was cheating on me! And then you made him think that I was cheating on him when a guy I thought knew about our relationship was taking care of me when I was too busy drinking away my anxiety because I thought he was cheating on me!”

Matsukawa winces. “He has a point, Makki.”

“Shut up, I know we’re in the wrong,” Hanamaki sighs, wringing his hands. “Look, Iwaizumi, we’re really sorry. We only did that because we knew Oikawa wouldn’t cheat on you and we wanted that to reassure you. And honestly, we thought that you were going to run into him body-rolling on the dance floor and that you were finally going to resolve your sexual tension and he was going to fuck you against the wall.”

Iwaizumi splutters. Why did everyone think he was a bottom?

“But that didn’t happen, and it ended up ruining things. So we’re really sorry,” Hanamaki mutters.”We can explain things to Oikawa, too.”

“I’m pretty pissed at him for going along with this whole matchmaker bullshit, to be honest.”

“That wasn’t his fault,” Matsukawa sighs. “We were only going to give him your name and number if he promised to not tell you.”

Iwaizumi growls. “Fuck you guys.”

“We’ll buy you ramen for a month?” Hanamaki offers.

“Make that two,” Matsukawa says.

“Make that three and you’re both doing cleaning duty at work,” Iwaizumi snaps. “Now excuse me, I have a boyfriend I need to patch things up with.”

And with that, he makes his way back to the Sig Nu house.

 

-

 

He enters the house, still trashed from the night before, and walks up the stairs to what he vaguely remembers to be where the bedrooms of the frat brothers were. Scanning along the hallway, he finds a door towards the end that has the names “Oikawa” and “Kuroo” on it.

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath, shifting his bag, and raps on the door firmly.

“Go away,” he hears behind the door, muffled.

He grimaces. That was definitely Oikawa.

“Oikawa, it’s me,” Iwaizumi says softly, hoping that was enough.

No response.

“Tooru,” he murmurs softly. And then, “I have milk bread.”

Swearing, then rustling behind the door. Iwaizumi waits until the door creaks open. There Oikawa stands, wrapped in a blanket cape and sniffling like he’s been crying for the past few hours.

“Fuck you,” Oikawa says halfheartedly, and steps back to allow Iwaizumi into his room.

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi mumbles absentmindedly, walking in.

He looks around, and hazily remembers that he was in here last night. At least the beds and the alien posters look familiar. Oikawa waddles over in his blankets like a penguin in a puffer jacket and plops down on a bed.

Wordlessly, Iwaizumi hands over the bread to Oikawa, who holds his hand out expectantly for it. The bundle of sheets rips the pack open and tears into a bun aggressively.

“Talk, Hajime.”

“Matsukawa and Hanamaki told me about how they've been setting us up from the beginning,” Iwaizumi blurts, watching Oikawa’s face morph from perturbed to surprised. “They also suggested that you were cheating on me and that I should come to a Sig Nu party to scope you out.”

Oikawa's face turned from surprised to enraged. “I'm going to eviscerate them—”

“—I know, Shittykawa. And then I got so nervous about maybe catching you cheating on me that I went straight to the drinks where Kuroo was because he was the only Sig Nu guy I know besides you and I thought he knew about us because you said you got my number from him—”

Oikawa’s eyes widened. “—Oh, shit—”

“—Can you fucking let me finish? Anyways, I got stupid drunk, because I don't know what the fuck you guys put in that jungle juice. I'm not sure what happened after that but I do remember Kuroo taking me up to his room so I could lie down and not pass out on the nasty ass floors here. And then you came in and I passed out and that's all I remember.” Iwaizumi inhales sharply. “Yahaba told me you dropped me off, cried, accused me of cheating, and left.”

“To be fair, you guys _really_ didn't look innocent,” Oikawa muttered. “You looked like you just got destroyed. Even I haven't seen you that flushed yet. I got jealous that Kuroo got to see you like that before I even did.”

Iwaizumi flushes, but ignores that in lieu of getting what he wants to say out. “And I'm kind of mad that you lied to me for almost two months. I'm not as mad as you as I am with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, but still! Fuck you!”

“Yeah, I know,” Oikawa mutters, “but I thought you were so cute. And I knew Mattsun and Makki worked at that Target. They wouldn't tell me your name or anything unless I played along! And I thought it would be fun… until today.”

Iwaizumi sighs. He was still a little ticked that Oikawa lied to him, but... it couldn't be helped. He walks over to his bed, plops down next to the angry blanket bundle, and holds his arms out. “Come here, you disgusting baby.”

“Iwa-chan is so mean,” Oikawa sniffs, but scoots in anyway to cuddle into Iwaizumi's chest.

Iwaizumi lets Oikawa's weight topple him over so they're lying on the bed. They stay like that for a few minutes, Iwaizumi enjoying the steady rise and fall of Oikawa's body on top of his.

The bundle speaks. “Iwa-chan,” it says.

“Yeah.”

“Kuroo's gone for the day. He left to give me space.”

“What are you — oh.”

Oikawa grins up at him. His eyes are still puffy, his cheeks still mottled red from crying and frustration, but Oikawa's smile is crooked and imperfect and charming and his hair is mussed and god, Iwaizumi’s fucked.

“You free today?”

 

-

 

Oikawa gets to see Iwaizumi's flushed face. After Iwaizumi calms down, Matsukawa and Hanamaki point out that though the original plan didn't work, Iwaizumi and Oikawa _did_ end up fucking.

Iwaizumi just hits them and demands ramen. Oikawa comes with.

Life's not perfect, but it's definitely good.

 


End file.
